


in excelsis deo

by devonthemenace



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Bondage, Light BDSM, M/M, Porn With Plot, Religious Symbolism, Slurs, The Golden God Is Not Taking Questions He's Taking Action, Unsafe Sex, ass eating, authour doesn't proofread, authour has bpd, canon adhd character (mac), canon bpd character (dennis), dickriding, dom!bottom/sub!top, dom/sub dynamics, dubcon (both parties drunk), facesitting, mac and dennis are Bad Men, realistically short sex given that the men in question are drunk and in their 40s, will keep adding tags as my dumb ass remembers what i wrote
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:54:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28852395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devonthemenace/pseuds/devonthemenace
Summary: ("someone's coming," the angels sang; "glory, glory," heaven rang.)Mac knows that Dennis will chew him up and spit him out, over and over again until he's nothing. He thinks that might be what he deserves.Even if it isn't what he deserves, he knows it's what he wants.(glory, glory, gloria)
Relationships: Mac McDonald/Dennis Reynolds
Comments: 5
Kudos: 36





	in excelsis deo

Mac knows that Dennis is the worst person for him. He doesn't know if that matters.

The summer in Philly gets so muggy that the air feels like it's dripping down your throat. Just walking down the street is as tiring as a sprint through a sauna; even the cicada's scream begs for relief. The sun paints the city with cartoonish saturation, everything is too bright. Mac feels like a whole, real human being for the first time in a long time and it's too much. He knows every crack, every weed, every inch of this city; yet, in the low burn of summer, it always feels alien. As he and Dennis make their way down to the bar, they walk in mutual silence. Dennis has the same look on his face as always, a haughty sort of discomfort. It's blank and proud, but something behind it always says _I_ _don't_ _want_ _to_ _be_ _here._ _This_ _isn't_ _my_ _skin._ He doesn't have to wonder what's playing out inside his head- his face betrays him well enough.

Mac knows that Dennis will chew him up and spit him out, over and over again until he's nothing. He thinks that might be what he deserves.

Even if it isn't what he deserves, he knows it's what he wants. He's always wanted Dennis. It was different before, happier. Now it's like there's just nothing else. Dennis can replace every thought in your head with one of himself. Mac has never enjoyed letting his mind wander, but he doesn't know how to stop. He's always thinking too much, thinking about God or about his mother and father. Thinking about all the people he's disappointed, all the things that could've gone better. He's always thinking about Dennis. He wonders if Dennis is thinking about him, too.

But he knows that he isn't. He knows Dennis is thinking about himself. He's thinking about how much he's walked today, weighing it against how much he's eaten. Working out exactly how many beers it'll take to forget himself tonight, how many calories he'll have to cut to allow them. He's wondering whether he'll try and take someone home. Mac knows that he won't. He says he will- every night he says he will. Every night they go home together alone, like they always do. They stay together and it all stays the same. But it hasn't been the same, has it?

In the back of his mind, he plays out a hundred scenarios of Hell on Earth coming to take him. He sees the sky open up to a pit of lava. The ground swells and swallows him whole-the horn of Saint Gabriel is blowing faintly behind him. He feels Dennis lead him by the hand straight down ( _then_ _push_ _him_ _by_ _his_ _head,_ _straight_ _down_ ).

The bar is cold and dark before it opens, and silent save for the din of incandescent lights. The burden of confession sits in the air between them, waiting to see whose resolve will break first. In the overhead glow of the room, his best friend looks how a demon knows you think an angel does. Shivers cover Mac's body, and he claps harshly to try and disperse them.

As the day's ghosts float in and out, he watches Dennis stand behind the bar and drink the vodka he should be serving; he wonders how much longer he can do this for. The bottle in his hand starts to bead up with condensation under his grip. As Dennis raises a shot carelessly to his mouth, a few drops of liquid trickle down from his bottom lip before his tongue darts out to lap up the rest. Mac doesn't bother looking away- he knows he's being watched, too.

Charlie sits and rambles in the seat next to him. It looks like he's in just as bad of a state as he is, though what he's been drinking smells more like drain cleaner than any of the liquor behind the bar. He isn't sure what he's talking about, he doesn't think it matters. He can't tear himself out of his head; can't stop staring across the dim, sweaty room.

"Dude," Charlie's squeaking voice finally manages to pierce. "Are you even listening?" Mac lets out a heaving sigh.

"No, Charlie, I'm not listening. I have more important things to think about than," he pauses for a moment and tries to remember what they were talking about. He fires a shot in the dark. "Haunted bowling alleys."

"You never want to talk about cool haunted shit with me anymore."

"That's not true. I have things on my mind."

"Yeah," Charlie drops his head into his hands unceremoniously. "dicks on your mind, maybe."

"Oh, come on."

"You're staring at him, dude, and you're gonna do it all night. Then if he leaves the room, you're gonna try to talk to me about him. And I  _ really _ don't give a shit, Mac, I don't."

"Shut up, Charlie. I am not  _ staring _ , okay. I don't want to talk about ghosts."

"Well," he stands up, wobbly. "Whatever then, man. I'm gonna go find Frank."

"Yeah, whatever." _Screw_ _him,_ Mac thinks. Charlie wanders off behind him, and he pounds the rest of his drink. It's time to get outside and recalibrate.

The alley behind the bar smells like piss and Wild Turkey. Somehow, it's gotten dark out, though he remembers it being bright. He lights up a crumpled joint from his shirt pocket and tries to remember the morning. All he can conjure up is Dennis rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His sweat underneath his clothes starts to feel like his skin melting off, and it starts to hit him that  _ this _ might be Hell. He takes another drag to try and drown out this thought, but it only comes back clearer. There's a storm on the way, Mac thinks, judging from the thick veil of clouds covering the night sky. He checks the time, and hits the joint again. Two more hours and he can go home. Two hours left to fight himself- to stop his mind or his heart or his cock from raging any longer than it has to.

His ritual can truly begin now, as he reaches the breaking point between rationality and self-indulgence. The cocktail of substances slowly working on his mind tells him it's too late

to back out- he must enter a fugue state before the night is up. Images flash behind his eyes of Dennis's lips wrapping around a bottle and then-

He hits the joint like his life depends on it.

Thoughts growing louder, a little voice tells him to pray; but it's all wrong. He's thinking of Dennis on his knees- mouth open and expectant- his sharp voice softened in reverence. He hears the breathless mutter ring through his mind; _Bless_ _me,_ _father._ _Wash_ _away_ _my_ _sins._

The bar's back door swings open behind him, tearing him from his own head back into the swampy summer air. He looks up to see a drunk and disgruntled man, cursing and yowling in pain as he clutches a dirty towel to his bloodied nose.

"Hey, pal!" Mac bellows across the alleyway, though it's only a few feet wide. "Go break your nose at somebody else's bar." The man shoots him an indignant look.

"I didn't break _my_ _own_ nose, asshole!" He jabs a bloody finger forward. "Some crazy old bastard jumped me in _your_ bathroom."

"Yeah," Mac puffs his chest out a bit, moreso to try and scare the guy off than in preparation to do any fighting. "What're you gonna do about it, punk?" The other man stares back at him incredulously.

"What the fuck are you- do you have a boner?" He throws up his free hand in anger as Mac's head snaps down to confirm. "God, I  _ hate _ coming here…" All the same, he turns around and walks back inside.

_ Shit _ , Mac thinks as he tries to conjure something horrible in his mind. He screws his eyes shut and wills himself to think of anything at all besides Dennis' glistening, sweaty body beneath his fingers. Anything but the way he might shiver while his body slides down-

_You_ _damn_ _dirty_ _faggot_ , his mother's voice calls in his ear. He hears shattering glass, the rattle of an upturned ashtray on a tile floor. He feels the sting of an old blow to the head and his blood goes back to running cold.

Two more hours until he can go home, fuck himself senseless and collapse in a heap of sweat, oil and shame. Two more hours left to fight.

Back inside, the crowd is thinning out. Only the worst of the worst is still here by this time of night; old men nursing tumblers of cheap gin with young women they don't know on their arms- the kind of men who can't recall whether or not they're anyone's fathers or if they ever had someone to come home to. Mac wonders what it means that he's here too.

Dennis is still stumbling over himself behind the counter. He's slurring through his teeth, to some older blonde at the bar. Mac catches his eyes, and swears he sees their lids relax in comfort. He watches as Dennis lowers himself down onto the wood, moving closer to the woman across from him. He looks back to make sure Mac is watching before reaching out to touch the woman's face. His hand lingers there for a second, before he pulls it back and blows a puff of air onto his finger.

"Eyelash," he barely hears it from where he's standing. But he sees the cocky smirk, and Dennis' eyes dart back to him. The stare draws him in; his legs moving hin toward the back of the room by some undeniable force. He slides in past the dented old wood, past the old bottles and bruised limes to stand directly behind Dennis.

"Excuse me," he grumbles out, then coughs into his fist. "I gotta grab a cup."

Mac lowers his body down to his knees, making sure to grasp Dennis' hips for support as he does. As he lets go, he runs his fingers down his thighs, feeling tiny jolts under the skin wherever he touches. As he makes a show of searching the counter for  _ exactly _ the right glass, he feels a hand reach down to card through his hair. He closes his eyes and almost falls back at the touch, but manages to steady himself. Every day now, it goes farther. The affectionate touches and loving gazes, waking up huddled together like it's freezing in the dead of August heat. It's love that might break if it's seen, something just outside of real romance that can't exist without being excused. He wonders for the hundredth time tonight if he can take another second. Grabbing a glass off the shelf at random, he lets his free hand rise and fall onto the small of Dennis' back, then travel down to his hip as he lifts himself back off the floor.

"Got it," he barely manages past his breathlessness.

"Actually," he hears in his direction. Dennis is turning to look at him now, and flashes him a boyish grin. "Could you grab me another?"

Two more hours. Two more hours. Two more hours. They pass like kidney stones.

The walk home is agony- worse even than the walk there. The morning sun is gone by now, but the humidity still lingers. At this hour the streets of Philly are full of hustlers and junkies, uncapped needles litter the back alleys; laid out beside the slumped bodies of the men who used them. Whether they look half alive or half dead, Mac can't say.

By the time they get home, it's 3 o'clock in the morning. They should sleep- God knows, they both should sleep- but instead, they opt to sit down on the sofa and pour yet another drink each. The radiator hums low beneath words unspoken. Crickets chirp noisily from outside the open window. They spend every night like this, drinking in silence and tension, brushing their knees and trading glances like schoolchildren. But it's not so innocent. Never with them-nothing is ever innocent.

He closes his eyes, and drifts back to the security of his head. He can imagine the weight of ankles thrown over his shoulders- feel the chewed, jagged nails along his skin. He can hear Dennis panting in his ear and calling out his name, over and over like it was a psalm.

_Mac,_ _Mac,_ _Mac…_

"Mac," he hears- only this time, he realises he's really hearing it.

"Huh?" Caught off guard and more than a bit flustered, he turns to face the man he was just imagining fucking.

"I said 'you have a boner, Mac'." His head snaps down, again. He really should be more aware of these things, but he's drunk, and so hard so often. It's almost easier to tell when he  _ doesn't _ have a boner.

"Um," he comes up blank for what to say, and chooses brevity instead. "I'm sorry?"

"Is it a question?" Dennis asks, unsure yet whether he wants to be stern or playful.

"I guess not. Sorry, man. I'm drunk," but that's a weak excuse. Quick, deflect. "And I'm thinking about that guy from the gym. Y'know, with the arms." He's talking too much. "What's his name?"

"Whatever," and he settles on stern. "Why would I know? I don't keep a catalogue of all the guys with big, beefy arms you want to bang." He pauses, just for a second. "I  _ can't _ keep a catalogue."

"What? Dennis, are you mad at me right now?" Dennis scoffs.

"No. I'm not." But he can't stop fidgeting. After all these years, Mac knows when he's lying. He's a good, good liar- but everyone has a tell

"Yeah you are, dude," He's feeling bold; knows he's right. "You're pissed."

" _ No _ ," Dennis jabs a boney finger into his arm. Static electricity floods his body even from this angered touch, threatening to upend his stomach at any moment. "I'm not. I just fucking hate you, Mac. You disgust me." He presses down harder as he lifts his gaze. He's staring right into his eyes now, a supposed show of honesty.

"Dennis, I don't-"

"I'm serious," he continues. "I hate to even look at you. Waking up and seeing you every day makes me want to die. All I ever think about is how easy my life would be without you in it." And for once, it all clicks. He's convincing himself.

"That's a lie." Instilled with blackout confidence, he fights back.

"Fuck you," Dennis spits. Tears well in his eyes as he refuses to break his gaze.

"You're a liar, and you're a pussy."

"You're a miserable, self-hating faggot."

"So are you."

" _Fuck_ _you_ ," he slurs again. "I wish I didn't know you. I wish I never fucking met you."

"I can't take this anymore. I mean it."

"As if you ever could!" Dennis is screaming in his face now, unaware of or undeterred by the mascara-stain tears flooding his cheeks. "You're always thinking of a way out, you're just too fucking stupid to come up with one!"

"A way out of what? God, maybe I am stupid. I mean, what are we really doing here?"

Dennis goes catatonic with rage as he continues staring into Mac's eyes blankly. He knows they've made a mistake- though of what kind or caliber he isn't sure. He can't think. They've mentioned it out loud, this  _ thing _ between them. Now it's there, sitting in the open where it can't just be ignored or swept away. All at once, he breaks down completely. Sobs wrack his drunken body as his will to fight runs dry.

"I can't be alone. I just don't want to be alone." Overwhelmed, his hands shoot out blindly like a fussy toddler reaches for its mother. Mac hates how instantly he reaches back and holds him.

"I've been here forever, man." Dennis knows this- knows he can't rationally deny it. "I don't leave 'cause I don't want to."

"Why? Why don't you want to?"

"C'mon, Den. You know." There's a misplaced warmth in the nickname- as though this man hasn't been tearing into him all night.

"Say it," Dennis whimpers into his chest, "I just want to hear you say it." There isn't a pause. He can't help but do what he's told, sometimes.

"I love you," he blurts, and then he can't stop. "I've loved you forever- every day, you asshole. That's it. It's just you." He feels rather than hears the low rumble of laughter.

"That's disgusting," he hears Dennis say. His laughter gets a bit louder as he starts to shake with it. His words are harsh, but his eyes betray something else- something fond. "You're disgusting. Say it again." The crazy son of a bitch just smiles wildly.

"I love you," Mac repeats.

"Again."

"I love you." And then, Dennis presses a wet, forceful kiss against his lips.

"More."

"I love you, Dennis. I love you, I love you, I love you..." He's graduated to a manic cackle now, as he peppers tear filled kisses all over Mac's face and neck.

"I love you too," Dennis mumbles. "I want you to fuck me." More kisses.

"You're wasted."

"You're wasted", he retorts, and Mac can't argue. Dennis lowers his tone slightly, and makes dead eye contact. "Fuck me," he repeats. "Please, please fuck me."

Once again, he finds it hard to argue.

Grabbing him roughly by the back of his head, he brings their mouths together and kisses him like he's trying to drink his soul. He feels wiry hands running across his back and shoulders desperately. Dennis struggles for a moment, then hurls himself ungracefully into Mac's lap- knocking them both down in the process. Unphased by this, he continues tearing at his clothes in a drunken attempt to remove them- by all accounts, it's an unsexy visual, but Mac's cock is still throbbing against the fabric of his jeans just from the pressure on top of him.

"Here," he starts. "Let me get this…"

"No," Dennis ducks away from his hands. "No, 's my shirt. I can do it." True to his word- and maybe out of spite- the shirt comes off in one clean motion once he gets his bearings. "Fuck you," he makes sure to say before clamping his mouth back down onto Mac's neck, whose hips buck upward in response as Dennis lets out a guttural moan into his skin.

"What do you want me to do?", he asks, brain short circuiting.

"Be a good boy," his hot breath tickles his ear. "And show me your dick." Mac nods. "Say ' _yes,_ _sir'_."

"Yes, sir," he chokes out like it's instinct, and shifts his weight to allow Dennis access to his zipper. He makes quick work of taking off his pants, but teases his fingers slowly along the bulge in his underwear as it twitches beneath his touch. Then, he moves his hand below his waistband, running the pad of his thumb along the exposed skin of his hip before tugging the elastic down carefully. Mac's erection stands triumphantly between their two faces, already dripping with beads of precum and begging to be touched. Dennis hitches his breath at the sight of it, and licks the palm of his shaky hand before grabbing hold.

"Fuck," he purrs, staring hungrily as he slowly moves his wrist up and down. "It's perfect." He leans in and licks his lips before pressing a kiss to the tip- darting out his tongue and swirling it. Mac inhales sharply as heat tugs at his groin.

"Don't, I'm- I mean, I'll-" Dennis chuckles as he pulls his hand away and licks one, slow, deliberate trail up the base of his cock

"First, you're gonna walk to my bed," even if his words are callous, his voice is warm. "Then, I'm gonna tie you down and make you cum inside me."

"Jesus Christ," he'd heard more subtle phrasing in porn. "I'm not clean."

"That doesn't sound like _yes_ _sir_ ," then he scoffs in his unaffected manner. "Whatever. Neither am I. I hate condoms."

He knows the comment is only supposed to make his mind wander, but it does anyway. Mac knew he wasn't the first, not by far, yet somehow he couldn't imagine anyone else. He'd met others- even seen him fuck other people- but in his head, it was always just them.

"C'mon," Dennis says, and his body is already following. He grabs Mac by the hand and leads him clumsily into the room. Once inside, he pushes him down onto his pillows and hurries away to a cabinet by the door. From the cabinet, he pulls out a length of nylon rope before considering it carefully. After a few moments, he places the rope and his hands back inside the drawer- then, they reappear along with 2 matching pairs of gleaming silver cuffs. Seemingly, he's decided tying is too much effort right now. "Now then," he turns back to face the bed. "Lay down."

"Yes, sir," obediently, Mac reclines his body on the mattress, and raises his hands above his head without having to be told. A whisper of _good_ _boy_ rings through the air as goosebumps make their way across his skin.

Dennis' cold, thin fingers fumble with the mechanism of the cuffs for a few agonizing seconds before they finally click shut over his wrists and onto the headboard. Mac closes his eyes and takes in the sensation of lips brushing methodically against his legs- shivers as they just miss his most sensitive patches of skin. Unable to resist, he opens his eyes again as he feels a wet tongue trailing a line from his hip, moving part-way across his pelvis.

"Den," he shudders, then feels teeth tug at his skin. Only a nip- a warning.

"What was that?" Mac's forgotten himself. It's hard to focus on anything besides the warm, pulsing body currently pressed against him. "Nothing, sir," he corrects, feeling his cock twitch. He loves being degraded like this; has always got off on it. To feel like complete scum, like the dirt beneath someone's fingernails-and yet, to still feel wanted. Desirable. Fuckable.

"Mhm," Dennis moans, still inching slowly upward. "That's what I thought." He hovers his head above Mac's aching hard-on and leans in, just close enough for him to feel his breathing. Then, at once, he shifts his eyes upward to meet their eyes.

" _ Fuck _ ", and there's a chuckle.

"I wanna sit on your face." He only receives a furious nod in response. Eagerness gets the best of him, too, as within seconds- and without so much as a stern glance- he moves to straddle either side of Mac's head with his thighs.

Mac can't help but attack the task with gusto, even without being handcuffed and pinned to the bed. He moves desperately in quick, purposeful strokes along the rim of Dennis' hole; feels him buck and quiver against his mouth. Firmly, he drags the tip of his tongue in slow circles.

He hears a squeak, which quickly becomes a moan, as he flattens out the rest of his tongue and uses it to apply short bursts of pressure.

"Shit, Mac," rings a strained voice. "Jesus fucking Christ." He lets out a responsive grumble, sending vibrations all up and down both their bodies. Dennis is grinding his hips now, and save for the pillows beneath his head Mac thinks his neck would snap off.

He slides the slightest bit of the way inside, before retreating back. Taking his time, he repeats this process- going deeper and deeper with each push until his nose is buried underneath his cock and balls.

"I can't take it anymore," Dennis pants, loosening the grip of his legs. "I need you to fuck me right now." He shifts his weight over onto one knee and moves to rustle through his bedside drawer. He produces a pump-top bottle of lube, which he spreads generously between his legs. As he does this, he slips two- then three- of his fingers inside his ass, further stretching his pleading hole. Coaxing them in and out, he locks eyes with Mac and stares as he watches him pleasure himself. Pulling out his digits, he pumps more of the lube onto his hand and reaches out for Mac's aching erection. "Ready?"

"Yes, please sir," he chokes- as if he would say anything else.

"Please what?"

"Please," He strains, struggling against his handcuffs. "Please let me fuck you, sir." A mischievous smirk spreads across Dennis' face. Wordlessly, he repositions himself over Mac's dick, slowly but surely lowering his body onto it until he finds he's filled to the hilt. He mewls desperately as it pulses and throbs inside of him; grinds down his hips in a plea for motion.

"Goddamn," he moans. "You're  _ huge _ ."

"Thank you, sir," Mac responds in kind as he thrusts upward, eliciting a low pitched moan which echoes through the room. "Thank you, thank you, thank you…"

"Such a good boy," and another thrust. "You're so good. So good to me," Dennis mumbles, before he reaches out and scratches down his chest. "Harder."

The cheap, shitty old bed springs creak and screech beneath them as they pick up speed. Someone slams on the ceiling from below as the headboard bounds and rebounds into the wall behind it, though it goes unheard.

"Please-" Mac begins, though he quickly interrupts himself with a deep growl. He gathers his words as best as he can, and tries again. "Please hit me, sir."

"Fuck yes," Dennis shudders out, before pulling back his hand and striking him harshly across the face. As soon as the slap makes contact, a whimper tumbles from Mac's lips and graduates into a squeaking moan.

"Again, please sir." He closes his eyes in anticipation as he feels a firm hand collide with his other cheek.

He opens his eyes, and by now, he's watching his best friend ride his cock at a feverish pace- glassy eyed and panting as he bounces wildly on his knees. His own hips buck frantically in and out as the sounds of colliding flesh and strangled groans fill the air and float out through the open window, dissolving on contact under the noise of Philly at night.

"Just like that," Dennis begs. "Keep fucking me like that."

"Yes, sir," he repeats. "Thank you, sir."

"Tell me I'm a whore."

"You're a whore," he obeys. Dennis moves faster, resting his hands on Mac's chest.

"Tell me you love me," he moans, eyes welling up.

"I love you," Mac gushes. "I love you so much."

"Fuck," Dennis chokes out. "fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ ." Unable to hold himself up any longer, he curls himself inward, pressing their two foreheads together and dripping salty tears everywhere. Mac closes the distance between them and buries his tongue inside his open, panting mouth. Their faces bump awkwardly together as they struggle to keep their lips from separating.

"Holy shit," Mac barely wrestles out. "Oh, holy  _ shit _ , Dennis.

" _ Fuckfuckfuck, _ " he repeats. "I can't, I can't-"

And it's all over embarrassingly quickly. Mac knows what's about to happen- he can feel it. Dennis tenses his muscles uncontrollably; shaking and squealing, and splattering a pool of hot semen all over their huddled torsos. Mac follows suit soon after- bellowing awkwardly as he empties his cum into one of his oldest friends.

Shaky, Dennis lifts himself and collapses down on the bed beside him, still sniffling and crying.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he almost whispers, already drifting into a drunken and placated sleep. "Always cry when I get fucked." Mac decides not to press the issue, choosing instead to roll over and settle himself into the mattress.

"Can I sleep here tonight?"

"Mm," he grunts affirmatively. "No snoring."

"Sure," Mac replies, knowing perfectly well that it's Dennis who snores, and buries his head between his shoulders.

"G'night, Mac."

"Night, Den."

_Please_ _be_ _here_ _in_ _the_ _morning,_ he thinks, and closes his eyes- the first good sleep in months.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry lmao. wear condoms pls. (obligatory plug: i write gay porn and also non-porn for money- and i actually proofread my commissions. hmu @ glennmeowerton on tumblr.)


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